by Lucy Quinn
“But—Sheriff Watkins called,” he continued, his voice falling from a shout to a whine. “She said you were—that she—and now you—”
Cookie sighed. “Yes, she made me a deputy,” she confirmed. “But only temporarily. Just so I could help Hunter work this case.”
Swan slumped a little as all the anger seemed to drain out of him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She patted him on the arm. “I’m just trying to help figure out what happened to Dickie Dungworth. That’s all.” She waved her hand at the porch, and the building beyond it. “In case you forgot, I’ve got an inn to run. I don’t have time for a second job.” She offered up what she hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace. “And I know you’ve got everything else covered here. I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you.” Which was certainly true. Just the thought of sitting in that sheriff’s office every day, doing nothing, was enough to make her skin crawl.
“Oh.” Swan shuffled his feet, his eyes locked intently on them. “Uh. Right. Sorry about going off on you, then. When I heard you were a deputy now, I just figured, what with you living here, that you’d be working out here on the island. And there’s only need for one deputy here, if that. Which meant I’d be out on my ear.” He tugged on said ear and glanced sheepishly up at her. “Guess I read it wrong.”
“You definitely did,” she assured him. “I promise.”
“You and Agent O’Neil were a big help on the Winslow case, right enough,” Swan continued. “And I’m sure you’ll do gangbusters on this one, too.” He studied his shoes again. “Tell the truth, I was way out of my league then, and I’d be just as lost now, so it’s good you’re here.”
She could see that he meant that. “Thanks. I’m happy to lend a hand, but that really is all I’m doing.”
He nodded, and seemed at a loss for what to say. Finally, he offered his hand, and Cookie took it. His grip was firm and warm in hers.
“Sorry again,” Swan managed quietly. “Let me know if you need anything, all right?”
“We definitely will,” she promised. He made his way down off the porch and headed back toward town.
Cookie watched him go, and she didn’t even turn when she heard the screen door open, but called back over her shoulder, “I take it you heard all of that?”
Behind her, Hunter chuckled. “Should I lie and claim I didn’t?” he asked. He stepped up beside her. “You sure you don’t want his job?” her ex-partner teased. “He’s got it pretty easy.”
She snorted. “Could you really see me sitting on my ass all day, chowing down on donuts and rotting my brain with YouTube videos? No thanks.” She blew out a breath. “Besides, I’ve got enough to deal with as it is.”
As if on cue, the screen door opened again. “Everything okay?” Rain asked, joining them on the porch.
“Fine, Ma,” Cookie answered. Then she registered another body in her peripheral vision and turned, swallowing a sigh as she nodded at the large, heavyset woman with the long silvery hair and lined face. “Winter.”
“Hello, sweetie.” Winter was one of Rain’s oldest friends, and just so happened to live in Hancock—a fact Cookie was almost sure her mom had known when she’d suggested they move here. “Want a puff?” The aging hippy was smoking a joint, and offered it to Cookie, who shook her head and jerked a thumb toward Hunter. “We have FBI here, remember?”
Winter’s eyes bugged out as she quickly blew out the smoke she’d been holding in.
“Was that Deputy Swan who just left?” Rain wanted to know.
“Deputy?” Winter’s face went pale. The woman was a bit paranoid. Then again, she owned a “medicinal” tea shop in Hancock, so Cookie suspected she had good reason to avoid the attention of the law.
“It was.” Cookie glanced over at Hunter, who smirked and nodded. “He was a little concerned about the fact that Sheriff Watkins had deputized me, but we sorted it out.”
Now Rain was staring at her, too. “She deputized you?” she said, her usually booming voice coming out in a squeak. Next to her, Cookie thought Winter was going to swallow the joint whole, burning tip and all. “You’re a deputy?”
“That’s right.” Cookie pulled out her badge and waved it at the two older women. “See? I’m official and everything.”
Winter was frantically waving a hand in front of her face, trying to dispel the odor of pot. “Oh, that’s… well … good for you, dear,” she managed, stumbling toward the front door. “Rain, I think I left something on the stove. We’d better see to it, wouldn’t want it to burn or anything.” She turned and all but ran back inside.
“No, you’re right,” Cookie’s mom agreed quickly, her own face a little pale and her eyes a bit wild. “I’ll be right there.” She managed a fake smile as she patted Cookie on the shoulder. “But good for you, dear. You let those bad guys have it!” Then she was gone as well.
Hunter waited until the screen door had slammed behind the two women before he burst out laughing. “That was cruel,” he declared when he could speak coherently again. “Really damn funny, but cruel.”
Cookie giggled. “They had it coming,” she insisted. “Besides, it’s not like this’ll stop them. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll make them think twice, exercise a little caution—even a little common sense.”
She and Hunter considered that a second, then both started laughing again.
Yeah, right.
And Mr. Jenson, who owned the only local farm on the island, had flying pigs, too.
9
“Explain to me again where we’re going,” Cookie asked. She tugged at the cuffs of her blouse. “And why I had to dress up for it.” All Hunter had told her was “dress nice and bring a jacket or sweater,” so she had gone for a long, tailored skirt and matching bolero jacket over a silk blouse. Classy but understated. It was a lot more movement-restrictive than the jeans and loose button-downs she normally wore, though, or even the suits she’d worn at the FBI. And if she didn’t watch her stride, she was going to end up tripping herself in the skirt.
Still, Hunter’s expression when she’d come down the stairs had been worth it. “Wow,” was all he’d said at first, his dark gaze drinking her in. “You look great.”
“Right back atcha,” she’d replied, and it was true. He’d actually been smart enough to bring more than one suit this time, and he was wearing a charcoal gray one now, with a black silk shirt open at the collar. He looked like a rich, sexy entrepreneur instead of a Fed—she could easily picture him hobnobbing at exclusive clubs or milling around on some fancy yacht.
And, while he hadn’t taken her to the yacht club, he had led her down the docks, and then onto the ferry.
“You had to dress up because I’m taking you out to dinner, remember?” he teased, wrapping an arm around her to shield her from the sudden wind that cut across the water, bringing with it an evening chill. Cookie shivered and gladly huddled into his warmth. Even with the jacket, she was cold.
“So we’re eating in Hancock?” She should have guessed that, really. There were only a few restaurants on the island, one of which was the Salty Dog, and considering everything that had happened recently, she wasn’t exactly welcome there right now. Nor was Hunter. Arresting one of the owner’s children and then actually charging the other tended to have that effect, even though they’d dropped all charges against Daisy, and Stone had gotten only a slap on the wrist, a small fine and some community service.
Hunter didn’t reply except to offer an enigmatic smile. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he chided.
Cookie huffed out a small breath of impatience. Waiting had never been her strong suit.
Finally, the ferry docked at Hancock, but instead of leading her out into the town proper, Hunter turned and guided them to a different dock, where a small launch waited, already half full. Once they and another couple had climbed on board, the launch took off, heading back out into the bay—but angling to one side, away from Secret Seal Isle. Cookie had no idea what
was going on, but it was clear Hunter was enjoying keeping her in the dark for now so she kept quiet and watched.
After only ten minutes, the launch slowed to a stop beside what Cookie had at first thought was a floating diving platform but now saw was actually a building set atop a wide, flat hull. It was like a block-sized houseboat. Above its front doors was a twisted loop like an 8 on its side.
“Infinity?” Cookie asked as they joined the others disembarking and making their way up the steps toward the doors. “Never heard of it.”
“You need to get out more,” Hunter told her, shaking his head. “It’s only the hottest restaurant in the area. Just opened last month, and it’s all the rage. A floating restaurant.” He smiled down at her. “I thought it’d be an experience.”
“I’m sure it will,” she agreed. “How do you even know about it?”
He chuckled. “There’s this thing called the Internet, maybe you’ve heard of it? All sorts of useful stuff on there.” Cookie elbowed him, but not hard.
She had to admit, she was impressed. Infinity appeared to be constructed entirely of reclaimed wood, all of its beams, joists, panels, and floorboards showing the deep character you could only find in wood that had been weathered and worn smooth and weathered again. The upper walls were made up entirely of glass panels, as was the roof, which was currently slid back to take full advantage of the pleasant breeze. There wasn’t much need for decoration, Cookie thought, admiring the building. Not when you had the ocean and the stars as your backdrop. All you needed was a comfortable space and good food.
And from the smells that enveloped her as they stepped up to the host’s table, the food here was excellent.
“Two for dinner,” Hunter told the hostess, a tall, leggy blonde in a shimmery gown who looked like she should be the one being waited on, not the other way around.
The admiring glance the hostess had been bestowing upon Hunter clouded, turning to confusion and consternation. “You don’t have a reservation?” she asked, her voice deep and pleasant, but startled.
“No,” he answered, a frown of his own starting to crease his brow. “Is that a problem?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She sounded genuinely sorry. “We’re booked solid. Have been since we first opened a month ago. We have an opening three weeks from now. Are you interested?”
The frown was now in full evidence. “It’s okay,” Cookie said, grabbing Hunter’s hand and trying to tug him away from the hosting station. “We’ll just head back into town and find someplace there.”
But Hunter gently shook her off. “How long is the wait?” he asked the hostess.
Damn. One thing about Hunter, Cookie knew from the years they’d worked together, he didn’t like being told no. And he had a really hard time accepting defeat.
“I couldn’t say,” the blonde answered, biting her lower lip. “I’m really sorry.”
Just then, Cookie heard a commotion behind her. It was like a wave of noise sweeping up in their wake, whispers and giggles and even applause. What the hell? She turned, and groaned as another couple came into view, clearly making their way up from the dock. He was tall and tan, an actual tan from working outdoors, with short dark hair and piercing blue eyes, dressed in classic tan slacks, blue button-down, and navy blazer.
It was the woman, though, who was causing such a stir in the restaurant’s clientele and staff alike. Tall and slender, with beautiful, delicate features, long, flowing golden hair and bewitching green eyes, she wore a shimmering metallic dress of a modest cut, with a T-shirt neck and sleeves, but of such fine fabric you could see through to the underdress beneath. It was an outfit Cookie had seen before, a few years back, on the ACM Awards.
Hayley Holloway had looked stunning in it then, and still looked amazing in it now.
“Miss Holloway!” A man appeared from somewhere deeper within the restaurant, middle-aged but still handsome, wearing slacks, a silk shirt, and a velvet smoking jacket. He brushed past the hostess—and Cookie and Hunter—to approach Hayley and Dylan.
Because of course that’s who the hottie at her side was. Since the universe clearly hated Cookie and wanted her to suffer as much as possible.
“We had no idea you were coming, or that you were even in the area!” the man continued, clasping Hayley’s hands in both of his. “I’m Ernesto Bryant, the owner of Infinity. You honor us with your presence.” He glanced back at the hostess and lifted one hand from Hayley’s long enough to wave in her direction. “Marie, see to their table at once. The head table, of course.”
“Of course, Mr. Bryant,” Marie replied, offering Hunter and Cookie an apologetic shrug before turning and hurrying away.
Which was when Dylan spotted Hunter and Cookie standing there.
His eyes widened slightly upon seeing them, then narrowed, studying Hunter for a second. Hunter, for his part, gave Dylan a curt nod, but granted Hayley a far brighter smile, the one that always lit up his face when Cookie could coax it out of him.
“Miss Holloway,” he said, “lovely to see you again.”
“Oh?” Hayley evidently hadn’t noticed them, and turned now. “Oh! Hello, Agent… O’Neil, wasn’t it? And Cookie. What are you two doing here?”
“Trying to have dinner, but without much success, apparently,” Cookie replied dryly. “Seems you need to plan meals a month in advance—I’m lucky if I can remember to set out tomorrow’s lunch.”
Hayley laughed at that, the light-hearted musical chuckle heard in many of her interviews. Then she sobered as Dylan tapped her on the arm and lifted an eyebrow. “Oh.” Hayley looked surprised. She tilted her head toward Ernesto, who was still lingering beside her like a small dog eager for its master’s attention. “Ernesto, isn’t there some way to get our friends a table as well? I’d hate to think that they were standing here waiting while we were inside enjoying your lovely establishment.”
Cookie didn’t miss the quick glance she shot Dylan’s way, or his approving nod—or the way Hayley’s face lit up at his unspoken praise. She tried to ignore the sharp pang of jealousy mixed with frustration at seeing just how in tune those two were. It was clear they knew each other well.
Perhaps even intimately.
Ernesto wrung his hands, something Cookie didn’t often see outside of old movies, soap operas, and her mother. “I wish I could,” he answered, “but we truly are booked solid. The table Marie is preparing for you is in fact mine—I keep it available for myself, my family, and close personal friends.” He lifted Hayley’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “And, of course, luminous stars like yourself.”
Hayley started to shrug, clearly prepared to accept that nothing else could be done. And Cookie was fine with that, even if Hunter would be annoyed about being turned away. But Dylan leaned in and whispered something in Hayley’s ear. Something that made her pout for half a second, before that transformed into a radiant, if slightly smug, smile.
“Oh, what if they join us?” she asked, as if it had been her idea all along. “Cookie and I are already well on our way to becoming fast friends, and with Agent O’Neil we’re a perfect foursome, don’t you think?” The way her eyes roamed Hunter from head to toe, Cookie could see that she’d have preferred it as a threesome, but she tried not to take that personally. After all, if she had the chance to be alone with Dylan and Hunter? Hell yes, she’d take it.
And probably spend the whole time keeping them from killing each other.
Still, it might be worth it.
The restaurant owner didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, of course,” he said at once, clapping his hands together like Hayley’s suggestion was the most brilliant idea ever. “Your friends are my friends!” Marie had just returned, and Ernesto speared her with a sharp glance. “Marie, the table is set for four, no?” She gulped, nodded, and quickly scurried away again, no doubt to make the necessary adjustments. “Excellent. Right this way.” And, taking Hayley’s arm as if they’d known each other all their lives, Ernesto
led the four of them into the restaurant.
“Sorry to crash your date,” Cookie murmured to Dylan, sliding in beside him as they walked, close enough to Hayley not to lose her but far enough back to not get the full brunt of everyone’s attention, or to be caught in the photos everyone was snapping of the rock star in their midst.
“Sorry to crash yours,” he replied, eyes flicking to Hunter, who had stayed on Cookie’s other side like he was glued there.
Hunter heard the remark, and set his jaw. But then he thawed, and acknowledged Dylan with a friendlier nod. “No worries, man,” he said over Cookie’s head. “Thanks for including us at the table. That’s big of you.”
“Happy to,” Dylan responded, studying Cookie for a second before glancing away again. “Us islanders need to stick together, right?”
Cookie nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to. Dylan was acting strange, and so was Hunter. And as for her, her head was spinning. Two days ago she’d thought Hunter was more or less out of her life and she was going on a date with Dylan. An hour ago, she’d been going on a date with Hunter. Now here she was with both of them. Or, at least, with both of them and a gorgeous rock star who just happened to have been one of her childhood idols.
She couldn’t tell if this was a fantasy come true or a nightmare.
Fortunately, it looked like Infinity had a full bar.
Cookie had the feeling she was going to need it.
10
“So,” Hayley started after the waiter had taken their orders and then discretely faded away, “Hunter, wasn’t it?” Hunter beamed, clearly delighted the famous singer had remembered his name. “Where are you from? Because”—she patted Dylan’s leg in a fashion that was far too familiar for Cookie’s liking—“no offense but you don’t strike me as a local.”
Dylan didn’t react to the possible slight, and Cookie started to bristle but then decided it wasn’t worth it. Besides, she’d only been here a month—was she really going to be offended at some slam against the locals? Or perhaps at the fact that Hayley hadn’t considered her interesting enough to even acknowledge her? Whatever.
